Lincoln's Melancholy: How Depression Challenged a President and Fueled His Greatness

Drawing on a wealth of his own research and the work of other Lincoln scholars, Shenk reveals how the sixteenth president harnessed his depression to fuel his astonishing success. Lincoln found the solace and tactics he needed to deal with the nation's worst crisis in the "coping strategies" he developed over a lifetime of persevering through depressive episodes

Overview

Drawing on a wealth of his own research and the work of other Lincoln scholars, Shenk reveals how the sixteenth president harnessed his depression to fuel his astonishing success. Lincoln found the solace and tactics he needed to deal with the nation's worst crisis in the "coping strategies" he developed over a lifetime of persevering through depressive episodes and personal tragedies. With empathy and authority gained from his own experience with depression, Shenk crafts a nuanced, revelatory account of Lincoln and his legacy, and in the process unveils a wholly new perspective on how our greatest president guided America through its greatest turmoil.

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Editorial Reviews

The friends and political colleagues of Abraham Lincoln regarded his deeply entrenched melancholia as an integral though potentially destructive part of his personality, even as evidence of his brilliance. In this revelatory study, Joshua Wolf Shenk shows how 19th-century thinking about melancholy shaped Lincoln's lifelong self-therapy and helped him cope with traumas including the loss of two children and the ghastly bloodbath of the Civil War. Lincoln's Melancholy adds another dimension to our appreciation of our most beloved American president.

Booklist

"An estimable contribution to the Lincoln literature."

Jonathan Alter

"Shenk brilliantly peels away the onion of myth and sentiment to reveal the compelling, tortured soul beneath. This book is full of lessons not just on Lincoln and mental health but on the strange alchemy of great leadership." Newsweek Magazine

Kay Redfield Jamison

"A profoundly human and psychologically important examination of the melancholy that so pervaded Lincoln's life. His suffering, and transformation of that suffering into an astonishing grace and strength, are persuasively and beautifully described in this remarkable book."Ph.D., Professor of Psychiatry, Johns Hopkins School of Medicine and author of An Unquiet Mind

William Lee Miller

Shenk does gain a dimension that not all Lincoln books achieve: Looking at his subject's darkness also means approaching his depth. Shenk deals well with the recently discovered Lincoln poem on suicide…with Lincoln's alleged homosexuality; and with Lincoln's humor, a not-so-easy topic that the author tackles with the seriousness it deserves. Lincoln's Melancholy poignantly captures the subtle last phase of the president's life. The Washington Post

Publishers Weekly

Abe the Emancipator, argues Washington Monthly contributor Shenk, struggled with persistent clinical depression. The first major bout came in his 20s, and the disease dogged him for the rest of his life. That Lincoln suffered from "melancholy" isn't new. Shenk's innovation is in saying, first, that this knowledge can be illuminated by today's understanding of depression and, second, that our understanding of depression can be illuminated by the knowledge that depression was actually a source of Lincoln's greatness. Lincoln's strategies for dealing with it are worth noting today: at least once, he took a popular pill known as the "blue mass"-essentially mercury-and also once purchased cocaine. Further, Lincoln's famed sense of humor, suggests Shenk, may have been compensatory, and he also took refuge in poetry. Unlike Americans today, Shenk notes, 19th-century voters and pundits were more forgiving of psychological and emotional complexity, and a certain prophetic pessimism, he notes, was appropriate to the era of the Civil War. Occasionally, Shenk chases down an odd rabbit trail-an opening meditation on whether Lincoln was gay, for example, is neither conclusive nor apposite. Still, this is sensitive history, with important implications for the present. (Sept. 20) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.

Library Journal

Lincoln's bouts with melancholy were well known in his day and became legendary after his death, but biographers, psychiatrists, and students of Lincoln have struggled to make sense of them. Was he mad, depressed, physically debilitated, or what? Over the years, historians have amplified or ignored Lincoln's mental state, but recent works of psychobiography and new medical findings on depression have opened the way for a fresh assessment. With uncommon common sense, a rare understanding of historical context, and a close reading of the primary sources, journalist Shenk persuasively argues that Lincoln indeed suffered from chronic depression. More important, he suggests that Lincoln's coping strategies not only helped him to live with his melancholy but prepared him for greatness. Lincoln's failures and his ability to live with countervailing tensions gave him the empathy, humility, and genius to win a terrible war and inspire others. While some readers might balk at Shenk's devotion to oral histories as the principal contemporary evidence on Lincoln's state of mind, they will find his discussions of Lincoln's private self and personal relationships revealing and instructive. Highly recommended for large public and university libraries. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 5/15/05.]-Randall M. Miller, Saint Joseph's Univ., Philadelphia Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.

School Library Journal

Adult/High School-In 1835, Lincoln, a likable, gifted law student, was so depressed that his community, who accepted his mental state as a component of his brilliance, put him on a suicide watch. The reaction to his depressions by those who knew him, and by Lincoln himself, is a revelation of 19th-century thinking. In his day, melancholia was seen as a personality type that, along with disadvantages, had attributes such as deep self-reflection. Blessed with insight into his condition, Lincoln used it as a resource, providing self-therapy in an era when professional therapies were scant. The man also was blessed with a sense of humor and, above all, good friendships that alleviated major life traumas, including the loss of two children. This is not a full biography. Emphasis is placed on aspects of Lincoln's life that contributed to his mental burdens, such as his estrangement from his father. The value of this book is the author's ability to assess his subject's mental state based on eyewitness accounts and Lincoln's own words. Shenk assumes his readers have a grasp of the period's history, making the book challenging, but teens interested in Lincoln or psychology will find the content compelling.-Jo Ann Soriano, Lorton Library, Fairfax County, VA Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

A significant contribution to the study of Lincoln and his battle with depression that will resonate with contemporary Americans. To some extent, Shenk (Unholy Ghost, not reviewed, etc.) exaggerates historians' longtime discounting of Lincoln's depression-after all, the President's careworn face is iconic. To his credit, however, he never resorts to thinly-sourced speculations or cliches about Oedipal triangles that have made psychobiography a four-letter word among mainstream historians. This account illuminates a troubled soul who persevered in spite of depression. Two nervous breakdowns in Lincoln's mid-20s and early 30s led him not only to fear for his sanity but even contemplate suicide. "Lincoln said that he could kill himself, that he was not afraid to die," the author writes. "Yet, he said, he had an 'irrepressible desire' to accomplish something while he lived." That "something" was helping end slavery in the United States. It was "a temperamental inclination to see and prepare for the worst," according to Shenk, that allowed Lincoln to recognize slavery as the cancer devouring the Union. Perseverance and forbearance created a tough-minded yet compassionate leader who understood his and the nation's imperfections without accepting their permanence. Offering a plausible explanation for the evolution of Lincoln's depression from episodic to chronic, Shenk shows how personal conflicts (the death of Lincoln's mother, for example) interacted with professional disappointments (failed bids to become a state legislator and congressman) to forge a politician who admitted to being "the most miserable man living" even as he reached for greatness. An inspirational tale of how suffering breda visionary of hard-won wisdom.

From the Publisher

"Lincoln's Melancholy is an extraordinary story, for the depth of its scholarship and the lure of its style." --Mike Wallace, cohost of CBS's "60 Minutes"

"Lincoln not only coped with his depression, he harnessed it. Joshua Wolf Shenk [explains how] masterfully and memorably." --Walter Isaacson, president and CEO of the Aspen Institute and author of Benjamin Franklin: An American Life

"A profoundly human and psychologically important examination of the melancholy that so pervaded Lincoln's life....Remarkable." --Kay Redfield Jamison, Ph.D., Professor of Psychiatry, Johns Hopkins School of Medicine and author of An Unquiet Mind

"This is sensitive history, with important implications for the present." Publishers Weekly

"A significant contribution to the study of Lincoln and his battle with depression that will resonate with contemporary Americans. . .inspirational." Kirkus Reviews, Starred

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1 The Community Said He Was Crazy

In three key criteria —the factors that produce depression, the symptoms of what psychiatrists call major depression, and the typical age of onset—the case of Abraham Lincoln is perfect. It could be used in a psychiatry textbook to illustrate a typical depression. Yet Lincoln's case is perfect, too, in a very different sense: it forces us to reckon with the limits of diagnostic categories and raises fundamental questions about the nature of illness and health.

Though great resources in research and clinical science have been devoted to depression in the past few decades, we can neither cure it nor fully explain it.What we can do is describe its general characteristics. The perverse benefit of so much suffering is that we know a great deal about what the sufferers have in common. To start, the principal factors behind depression are biological predisposition and environmental influences. Some people are more susceptible to depression simply by virtue of being born. Depression and other mood disorders run in families, not only because of what happens in those families, but because of the genetic material families share. A person who has one parent or sibling with major depression is one and a half to three times more likely than the general population to experience it.The standard way to investigate biological predisposition is simply to list the cases of mental illness—or mental characteristics suggestive of potential illness—in a family. With Lincoln, such a family history suggests that he came by his depression, at least inpart, by old-fashioned inheritance. His parents, Thomas and Nancy Lincoln, came from Virginia families that crossed the Appalachian Mountains into Kentucky in the late eighteenth century. They married in 1806 and had three children: Sarah, born February 10, 1807; Abraham, born February 12, 1809; and Thomas, born about 1811. Though our information is imperfect, to say the least, both parents had characteristics suggestive of melancholy. Nearly all the descriptions of Nancy Lincoln have her as sad. For example, her cousin John Hanks said her nature "was kindness, mildness, tenderness, sadness." And Lincoln himself described his mother as "intellectual, sensitive and somewhat sad." Tom Lincoln, a farmer and carpenter, was a social man with a talent for jokes and stories, but he, too, had a somber streak. "He seemed to me," said his stepgrandson, "to border on the serious—reflective." This seriousness could tip into gloom. According to a neighbor in Kentucky, he "often got the 'blues,' and had some strange sort of spells, and wanted to be alone all he could when he had them." During these spells he would spend as much as half a day alone in the fields or the woods. His behavior was strange enough to make people wonder if Tom Lincoln was losing his mind.Perhaps the most striking evidence of mental trouble in Abraham Lincoln's family comes from his paternal relations. His great-uncle once told a court of law that he had "a deranged mind." His uncle Mordecai Lincoln had broad mood swings, which were probably intensified by his heavy drinking. And Mordecai's family was thick with mental disease. All three of his sons—who bore a strong physical resemblance to their first cousin Abraham—were considered melancholy men. One settler who knew both the future president and his cousins spoke of the two "Lincoln characteristics": "their moody spells and great sense of humor." One of these Lincoln cousins swung wildly between melancholia and mania and at times had a tenuous grip on reality, writing letters and notes that suggest madness. Another first cousin of Lincoln's had a daughter committed to the Illinois State Hospital for the Insane. After a trial, a jury in Hancock County committed thirty-nine-year-old Mary Jane Lincoln to the hospital, noting that "her disease is of thirteen years duration." At the hospital, an attendant observed, "Her father was cousin to Abraham Lincoln, and she has features much like his."What is striking about the case of Mary Jane Lincoln is that the jury, charged with answering the question of whether insanity ran in her family, concluded that "the disease is with her hereditary." According to a family historian who grew up in the late nineteenth century, the descendants of Mordecai Lincoln "suffered from all the nervous disorders known. Some were on the ragged edge." One family member who had frequent spells of intense mental trouble referred to his condition as "the Lincoln horrors."Three elements of Lincoln's history—the deep, pervasive sadness of his mother, the strange spells of his father, and the striking presence of mental illness in the family of his uncle and cousins—suggest the likelihood of a biological predisposition toward depression. "Predisposition" means an increased risk of developing an illness. As opposed to traditional Mendelian inheritance—in which one dominant gene or two recessive genes lead to an illness or trait—genetic factors in psychiatric illnesses are additive and not categorical. "The genes confer only susceptibility in many cases," explains the psychiatrist S. Nassir Ghaemi, in The Concepts of Psychiatry, "not the illness. That is, they only increase the likelihood that fewer or less severe environmental factors are required for the illness to develop, compared with someone who has fewer disease-related genes."What tips a person from tendency to actuality? For centuries, philosophers and physicians emphasized climate and diet. Today's experts focus on harsh life events and conditions, especially in early childhood. Lincoln's early life certainly had its harsh elements. His only brother died in infancy in Kentucky. In 1816, Abraham's eighth year, the family moved to southern Indiana. Two years later, in the fall of 1818, an infectious disease swept through their small rural community. Among those affected were Lincoln's aunt and uncle, Thomas and Elizabeth Sparrow, and his mother, Nancy Lincoln. Eventually, the disease would be traced to a poisonous root, eaten by cattle and then ingested by humans in milk or meat. But when Abraham watched his mother become ill, the disease was a grim mystery that went by various names, from "puking fever" to "river sickness" to "fall poison." Later, it became known as the "milk sick." "No announcement strikes the members of a western community with so much dread as the report of a case," said a newspaper of the time. A physician described the course of the illness: "When the individual is about to be taken down, he feels weary, trembles more or less under exertion, and often experiences pain, numbness and slight cramps." Nausea soon follows, then "a feeling of depression and burning at the pit of the stomach," then retching, twitching, and tossing side to side. Before long, the patient becomes "deathly pale and shrunk up," listless and indifferent, and lies, between fits of retching, in a "mild coma." First the Sparrows— with whom the Lincolns were close—took sick and died. Then Nancy Lincoln went to bed with the illness. Ill for about a week, she died on October 5, 1818. She was about thirty-five years old. Her son was nine.In addition to the loss of his mother, aunt, and uncle, a year or so later Abraham faced the long absence of his father, who returned to Kentucky to court another bride. For two to six months, Tom Lincoln left his children alone with their twenty-year-old cousin, Dennis Hanks. When he returned, the children were dirty and poorly clothed. Lincoln later described himself at this time as "sad, if not pitiful."The one constant in Abraham's life was his sister, Sarah. She was a thin, strong woman who resembled her father in stature, with brown hair and dark eyes. Like her brother, Sarah Lincoln had a sharp mind. She stayed with the family until 1826, when she married, set up house, and quickly became pregnant. On January 28, 1828, she gave birth to a stillborn child and shortly afterward died herself. "We went out and told Abe," recalled a neighbor. "I never will forget the scene. He sat down in the door of the smoke house and buried his face in his hands. The tears slowly trickled from between his bony fingers and his gaunt frame shook with sobs."

In the emotional development of a child, pervasive tension can be just as influential as loss. Lincoln's relationship with his father—the only other member of his nuclear family who survived—was so cool that observers wondered whether there was any love between them. The relationship was strained by a fundamental conflict. From a young age, Abraham showed a strong interest in his own education. At first his father helped him along, paying school fees and procuring books. "Abe read all the books he could lay his hands on," said his stepmother. "And when he came across a passage that struck him he would write it down . . . then he would re-write it—look at it—repeat it." But at some point Tom Lincoln began to oppose the extent of his son's studies. Abraham sometimes neglected his farm work by reading. Tom would beat him for this, and for other infractions.To men who had been born and expected to die on farms, book learning had limited value. A man ought to be able to read the Bible (for his moral life) and legal documents (for his work life). Writing could help, too, as could basic arithmetic. Anything more was a luxury, and for working folks seemed frivolous. For generations, Lincoln men had cleared land, raised crops, and worked a trade. So when this boy slipped away from feeding livestock and splitting logs to write poetry and read stories, people thought him lazy. "Lincoln was lazy—a very lazy man," remembered his cousin Dennis Hanks. "He was always reading—scribbling— writing—ciphering—writing poetry &c. &c."Later, Lincoln's self-education would become the stuff of legend. Many parents have cited Lincoln's long walks to school and ferocious self-discipline to their children. But Lincoln pursued his interests in defiance of established norms. Far from being praised, he was consistently admonished. He may well have paid an emotional toll. Many studies have linked adult mental health to parental support in childhood. Lower levels of support correlate with increased levels of depressive symptoms, among other health problems, in adulthood. After Lincoln left home in his early twenties, his contact with his father was impersonal and infrequent.When reviewing the facts of Lincoln's childhood, we should keep in mind some context. For example, in the early nineteenth century, one out of four infants died before their first birthday. And about one fourth of all children lost a mother or father before age fifteen. Of the eighteen American presidents in the nineteenth century, nine lost their mother, father, or both while they were children. None of Lincoln's contemporaries, nor Lincoln himself, mentioned the deaths of his siblings and mother as factors contributing to his melancholy. The melancholy was unusual, but the deaths were not. In the same vein, while we ought not to ignore Lincoln's conflict with his father and discount its possible emotional aftereffects, we risk missing more than we gain if we look at it exclusively through the lens of modern psychology. In fact, such a conflict between ambitious young men and their fathers was not uncommon in the early nineteenth century, a time of broad cultural and economic change.Abraham was not evidently a wounded child, but signs point to his being sensitive. He spent a lot of time alone. He was serious about his studies and reading, and uncommonly eager to explore imaginative realms, which psychologists often observe in sensitive children. He also took up a popular cause among sensitive people, the welfare of animals. Some boys found it fun to set turtles on fire or throw them against trees. "Lincoln would Chide us—tell us it was wrong—would write against it," remembered one of his neighbors. His stepsister remembered him once "contending that an ants life was to it, as sweet as ours to us."At the same time, Lincoln was a winsome child. Others sought him out, followed him in games, and applauded him when he mounted a stump and performed for them, pretending to be a preacher or a statesman. By the time he was a teenager, grown men would flock around him, eager to hear his jokes and stories. He was well liked.

Lincoln was not depressed in his late teens and early twenties—at least not so far as anyone could see. When he left his family, at age twenty-one, he had no money or connections. His chief asset—perhaps his only real asset—was his golden character. Settling as a stranger in New Salem, a small village on a river bluff in central Illinois, he soon was among the best-liked men around. A gang of rough boys developed a fierce attachment to him after he made a stellar showing in a wrestling match, displaying not only physical strength but a sense of fairness. Others were impressed with Lincoln's wit and intelligence, noticing, for example, how when he recited the poetry of Robert Burns, he nailed the Scottish accent, the fierce emotion, and the devilish humor. Though Lincoln looked like a yokel—tall and gangly, he had thick, black, unruly hair and he wore pants that ended above his ankles—he had good ideas and a good manner. "He became popular with all classes," said Jason Duncan, a physician in New Salem.After less than a year in New Salem, Lincoln declared himself as a candidate for the Illinois General Assembly. He was twenty-three years old. He lost the race but got nearly every vote in his precinct, which, said another candidate, was "mainly due to his personal popularity." When he volunteered for a state militia campaign against a band of Native Americans under Chief Black Hawk, a part of the bloody Black Hawk War, his company elected Lincoln captain. Nearly three decades later—as a veteran of Congress and his party's nominee for president of the United States—Lincoln wrote that this was "a success which gave me more pleasure than any I have had since."In his first four years in New Salem, Lincoln struck his new friends and neighbors as sunny and indefatigable. "I never saw Mr Lincoln angry or desponding," said a fellow soldier in the Black Hawk War, "but always cheerful." Indeed, "the whole company, even amid trouble and suffering, received Strength & fortitude, by his bouancy and elasticity." Once Lincoln stopped at the house of a neighbor, Elizabeth Abell, after working in the fields. He was scratched all over from briar thorns. Abell fussed over him, but Lincoln laughed about it and said it was the poor man's lot. "Certainly," she said years later, "he was the best natured man I ever got acquainted with." Asked by a biographer whether the Lincoln she knew was a "sad man," Abell answered, "I never considered him so. He was always social and lively and had great aspirations." Crucially, his liveliness and sociability served him well in politics. Campaigning again for the state legislature in 1834, he went out to a field where a group of about thirty men were working the harvest. A friend of Lincoln's, J. R. Herndon, introduced him. The men said that they couldn't vote for a man who didn't know how to do field work. "Boys," Lincoln said, "if that is all I am sure of your votes. "He picked up a scythe and went to work. "I dont think he Lost a vote in the Croud," Herndon wrote.Lincoln won the election easily. When a mentor in the legislature recommended that he study law, he took the challenge. It would be a good profession to accompany politics, in particular the politics of the Whig party, which drew its strength from the growing number of urban and industrial professionals. In the early nineteenth century, attorneys commanded a kind of awe, embodying the stately Anglo-Saxon tradition of common law and domestic order. Gaining "the secrets of that science," explained the poet-author William Allen Butler, would give a person a perpetual glow, for the law, "more than all other human forces, directs the progress of events."It is a mark of Lincoln's soaring ambition that, four years from the fields, he sought to join such ranks, at a time when all but five percent of the men in his area did manual work for a living. It was a sign of his pluck that he did it virtually all on his own. While other young men learned the law at universities—or, more commonly, under the tutelage of an established attorney—Lincoln, as he noted in his memoir, "studied with nobody." This was hardly the only mark of his ambition. A lawyer named Lynn McNulty Greene remembered Lincoln telling him that "all his folks seemed to have good sense but none of them had become distinguished, and he believed it was for him to become so." This language suggests that Lincoln had, more than a personal desire, a sense of calling. "Mr. Lincoln," explained his friend O. H. Browning, "believed that there was a predestined work for him in the world . . . Even in his early days he had a strong conviction that he was born for better things than then seemed likely or even possible . . .While I think he was a man of very strong ambition, I think it had its origin in this sentiment, that he was destined for something nobler than he was for the time engaged in." In his first published political speech, Lincoln wrote, "Every man is said to have his peculiar ambition. Whether it be true or not, I can say for one that I have no other so great as that of being truly esteemed of my fellow men, by rendering myself worthy of their esteem."But there were cracks in Lincoln's sunny disposition. "If the good people in their wisdom shall see fit to keep me in the background," he said in that same speech, "I have been too familiar with disappointments to be very much chagrined." At times, his faith in personal progress gave way and his familiarity with disappointments shone through. Back from the militia campaign, Lincoln and a partner opened their own store, buying the stock on credit. When the store failed, Lincoln was in serious financial jeopardy. Seeing him despondent, his new friends got him a crucial political appointment, as New Salem's postmaster. Later, he was made deputy surveyor, too. These jobs, Lincoln noted, "procured bread, and kept soul and body together."Nevertheless, his debt soon caught up with him: a creditor seized his surveying equipment—including his horse, his compass, and his chain—and put it up for auction. An older man named James Short saw Lincoln moping about and heard him say he might "let the whole thing go." Short tried to cheer him up. Then he went and bought the equipment for $120 (about $2,500 in modern dollars) and returned it to Lincoln.These streaks of sadness and worry may have been minor depressions. But it wasn't until 1835 that serious concern emerged about Lincoln's mental health. That summer, remembered the schoolteacher Mentor Graham, Lincoln "somewhat injured his health and Constitution." The first sign of trouble came with his intense study of law. He "read hard— day and night—terribly hard," remembered Isaac Cogdal, a stonemason. At times, Lincoln seemed oblivious to his friends and surroundings. "He became emaciated," said Henry McHenry, a farmer in the area, "and his best friends were afraid that he would craze himself—make himself derange."

Around the same time, an epidemic of what doctors called "bilious fever"— typhoid, probably—spread through the area. Doctors administered heroic doses of mercury, quinine, and jalap, a powerful purgative. According to one recollection, Lincoln helped tend to the sick, build coffins for the dead, and assist in the burials—despite the fact that he was "suffering himself with the chills and fever on alternate days. "He was probably affected mentally, too, by the waves of death washing across his new home—reminiscent, perhaps, of the "milk sick" that had devastated his family in his youth.Among the severely afflicted families were Lincoln's friends the Rutledges. Originally from South Carolina, they had been among the first to settle in New Salem, opening a tavern and boarding house, where Lincoln stayed and took meals when he first arrived. He knew the family well and had become friends with Anna Mayes Rutledge, a bright, pretty young woman with flowing blond hair and large blue eyes. In August 1835, Ann took sick. As she lay in bed in her family's cabin, Lincoln visited her often. "It was very evident that he was much distressed," remembered a neighbor named John Jones. She died on August 25. Around the time of her funeral, the weather turned cold and wet. Lincoln said he couldn't bear the idea of rain falling on Ann's grave—and this was the first sign people had that he was in the midst of an emotional collapse. "As to the condition of Lincoln's Mind after the death of Miss R., "Henry McHenry recalled, "after that Event he seemed quite changed, he seemed Retired, & loved Solitude, he seemed wrapped in profound thought, indifferent, to transpiring Events, had but Little to say, but would take his gun and wander off in the woods by him self, away from the association of even those he most esteemed, this gloom seemed to deepen for some time, so as to give anxiety to his friends in regard to his Mind."Indeed, the anxiety was widespread, both for Lincoln's immediate safety and for his long-term mental health. Lincoln "told Me that he felt like Committing Suicide often," remembered Mentor Graham, and his neighbors mobilized to keep him safe. One friend recalled, "Mr Lincolns friends . . . were Compelled to keep watch and ward over Mr Lincoln, he being from the sudden shock somewhat temporarily deranged. We watched during storms—fogs—damp gloomy weather . . . for fear of an accident." Another villager said, "Lincoln was locked up by his friends . . . to prevent derangement or suicide." People wondered whether Lincoln had fallen off the deep end. "That was the time the community said he was crazy," remembered Elizabeth Abell.The fact that Lincoln broke down after Rutledge's death, of course, doesn't necessarily mean that her death produced his breakdown. This is an important point, because from the very earliest writings on Lincoln, his relationship with Ann Rutledge has been controversial. Questions about whether he loved her and whether they were engaged have been debated fiercely, and still are. The myths and countermyths about this young woman played a big role in the early historiography of Lincoln— and, amazingly, played a large role in pushing Lincoln's melancholy to the margins of history. More on this in the Afterword, but for now the essential point is that leading scholars have long said that what we think about Lincoln's first breakdown must hinge on what we think about his relationship with Ann Rutledge. If his love for her is a myth, this thinking goes, then the breakdown must be a myth, too.In fact, in the eyes of the New Salem villagers, questions of a love affair followed hard and irrefutable knowledge of an emotional collapse. As the original accounts make clear, his breakdown was impossible to miss. Nearly everyone in the community who gave testimony spoke of it, remembering its contours even decades later. Lincoln, after all, had become immensely popular, loved by young ruffians and old families alike. Now, all of a sudden he was openly moping and threatening to kill himself. Why? people asked.What accounted for the great change?It was in an attempt to answer this question that people turned to his relationship with Rutledge. He had obviously been upset by her illness. And after her funeral he had fallen off an emotional cliff. "The effect upon Mr Lincoln's mind was terrible," said Ann's brother, Robert Rutledge. "He became plunged in despair, and many of his friends feared that reason would desert her throne. His extraordinary emotions were regarded as strong evidence of the existence of the tenderest relations between himself and the deceased." Notice the careful progression from fact (Lincoln's breakdown after Ann's death) to inference (they must have been tenderly involved). James Short, who was the Rutledges' neighbor, came to a similar conclusion. "I did not know of any engagement or tender passages between Mr L and Miss R at the time," Short said. "But after her death . . . he seemed to be so much affected and grieved so hardly that I then supposed there must have been something of the kind." Because Lincoln "grieved so hardly" and became "plunged in despair," it seemed reasonable to his friends that there must have been some proximate cause.In fact, major depression, in people who are vulnerable to it, can be set off by all manner of circumstances. What would appear to a non-depressed person to be an ordinary or insignificant stimulus can through a depressive's eyes look rather profound. "It's not the large things that send a man to the madhouse, "Charles Bukowski has written. "No, it's the continuing series of small tragedies . . . a shoelace that snaps, with no time left." In this light, it is worth noting that, according to reminiscences, the pivotal moment for Lincoln wasn't Rutledge's death but the dismal weather that followed. After the death, wrote John Hill, the son of Lincoln's friend Samuel Hill, "Lincoln bore up under it very well until some days afterwards a heavy rain fell, which unnerved him and—(the balance you know)." The intonation here suggests an understanding among Lincoln's friends that there was something precarious about him, and that—like Bukowski's shoelace—a factor as ordinary as poor weather could send him reeling. As we will see, cold temperatures would contribute to Lincoln's second breakdown. Lincoln himself would write that "exposure to bad weather" had proved by his experience "to be verry severe on defective nerves."For whatever reason, or combination of reasons, in the late summer of 1835 Lincoln's depression was pushed out into the open. After several weeks of worrisome behavior—talking about suicide, wandering alone in the woods with his gun—an older couple in the area took him into their home. Bowling Green, a large, merry man who was the justice of the peace—and who became, other villagers said, a kind of second father to Lincoln—and his wife, Nancy, took care of Lincoln for one or two weeks. When he had improved somewhat, they let him go, but he was, Mrs. Green said, "quite melancholy for months."Lincoln's behavior matches what the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, the handbook of mental health professionals, labels a major depressive episode. Such an episode is characterized by depressed mood and/or a marked decrease in pleasure for at least two weeks. Other symptoms may include a change in appetite or weight, excessive or insufficient sleep, agitation or lethargy, fatigue or loss of energy, feelings of worthlessness or inappropriate guilt, indecisiveness or trouble thinking or concentrating, and thoughts of death and/or suicide. To be classified as major depression, at least five of these symptoms must be present, marking a definite change from usual functioning and with significant distress or impaired functioning. If the symptoms follow the death of a loved one by less than two months, it might be considered mourning unless, as in Lincoln's case, there is "suicidal ideation"—to ideate is to form an idea about something—or other equally severe symptoms. "What helps make the case for the diagnosis of depression," says Kay Redfield Jamison, a professor of psychiatry at Johns Hopkins University, "is Lincoln's suicidal behavior and the fact that it provoked a 'suicide watch.' Today people are much more sophisticated about suicide, but it's pretty unusual to do that. It speaks to the seriousness of what was happening with Lincoln."Lincoln's breakdown also fits with the typical age for a first episode of major depression. Most serious psychiatric illnesses emerge at a particular time in life. For example, in males, schizophrenia usually surfaces in the late teenage years; manic depression in the late teens to early twenties. Unipolar depression, which Lincoln would struggle with his whole life, typically breaks into the open in the mid- to late twenties. Lincoln was twenty-six.

Many people wonder if Marfan syndrome contributed to Lincoln's depression. Marfan is an inherited genetic disorder that diminishes the strength of connective tissue—the material that gives substance and support to bodily structures, from tendons to heart valves. People with the syndrome tend to be tall and thin, with elongated limbs out of proportion to their bodies. In other words, they look like Lincoln, which is one reason some researchers suspect he may have had the disorder. "Most of the Marfanologists think that it's a fifty-fifty chance that he did have it," says Victor A. McKusick, a professor of medical genetics at Johns Hopkins. "He might just by chance have been tall and gangly. The physiognomy is a good clue, but you can't make the diagnosis on that basis alone." Does Marfan syndrome cause depression? At least one study has suggested a higher presence of depression in people with the syndrome. But McKusick says, "From the massive numbers of patients I have seen, there is no characteristic personality of Marfan patients. I would think that Lincoln's depression was quite unrelated."Another common question about Lincoln is whether he had manic depression, which is also known as bipolar disorder. This diagnosis is given to people who alternate between episodes of depression and mania —long periods of intensely heightened energy, often marked by euphoria, racing thoughts, disinhibition, and risk-taking. No evidence exists of mania in Lincoln. He didn't indicate trouble with swings in mood so much as with the low moods of depression. Nor did his contemporaries describe anything that sounds like mania. It is possible that he had what psychiatrists call hypomania—below full-scale mania, but still characterized by heightened energy. Often people with serious depression alternate between depressed moods and hypomanic ones. But here, too, there is no clear evidence of anything clinically significant.On the other hand, it's plain that Lincoln had major depressive episodes. Even after he had brought himself under control, he still grappled with desperate thoughts. Robert L. Wilson, who joined Lincoln as a candidate for the state legislature in 1836, found him amiable and fun-loving. But one day Lincoln took Wilson aside and told him something surprising. As Wilson recalled, Lincoln told him "that although he appeared to enjoy life rapturously, Still he was the victim of terrible melancholly He Sought company, and indulged in fun and hilarity without restraint, or Stint as to time Still when by himself, he told me that he was so overcome with mental depression, that he never dare carry a knife in his pocket. And as long as I was intimately acquainted with him, previous to his commencement of the practice of the law, he never carried a pocket knife."Of those who've had a single episode of major depression, more than half will have a second. Lincoln's second breakdown, in the winter of 1840–1841, bore a remarkable similarity to the first. It came after a long period of intense work, when Lincoln pushed himself hard in pursuit of an ambitious goal. Then, under profound personal stress—and in a stretch of bleak weather—he collapsed. Once again, he spoke openly about his misery, hopelessness, and thoughts of suicide. He was unable to work. His friends feared that he might kill himself, and that if he lived, he might go insane. Lincoln himself despaired that he would never recover. This will be explored in depth in Chapter 3.For now, it suffices to say that the breakdown was a second episode of major depression. According to the criteria in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, this qualifies Lincoln for the diagnosis of "major depressive disorder, recurrent." Strictly speaking, the illness is characterized by two or more major depressive episodes, separated by at least a month. More broadly, it suggests an underlying problem that can be expected to surface in various ways throughout a person's life. Consider: Someone with two episodes of major depression has a seventy percent chance of experiencing a third. And someone with three episodes has a ninety percent chance of having a fourth. (The phrase "clinical depression" can be applied to any incident of major depression or to people who experience major depressive disorder.) What the statistics suggest, the course of Lincoln's life confirms: by the time he was in his early thirties, he faced a lifetime of depression. Still, the quality and character of his illness would change through the years. The acute fits of his young manhood gave way to less histrionic, but more pervasive, spells of deep gloom. Dramatic public avowals of his misery gave way to a private but persistent effort to endure and transcend his suffering. Yet the suffering did not go away. As we will see, in his middle years Lincoln demonstrated signs of chronic depression. And even when he began to do the work for which he is remembered—and took evident satisfaction in finding a great cause to which to apply his considerable talent—he continued to suffer.Modern diagnoses can help initiate a discussion of Lincoln's troubles. With many physiological conditions, disease names are merely pointers. They stand in for the "real thing," which can be directly observed. But with psychological phenomena, language doesn't just name a reality; it creates a reality. This is crucial, given that the pain of depression is compounded, for sufferers, by the fact that it is hidden and often suspected of not being genuine. "In virtually any other serious sickness," writes William Styron in his memoir of depression, Darkness Visible, "a patient who felt similar devastation would be lying flat in bed, possibly sedated and hooked up to the tubes and wires of life support systems . . .His invalidism would be necessary, unquestioned, and honorably attained. However, the sufferer of depression has no such option." By identifying Lincoln's trouble directly and clearly, we acknowledge it as a basic fact, just as he did.Yet all too often medical diagnosis is used to end, rather than begin, a conversation. To say, as recent scholars have, that Florence Nightingale suffered from bipolar disorder or that the Salem witch trials were driven by "epidemic hysteria, with conversion symptoms" is no substitute for knowing how the individual figures, and the communities they lived in, understood themselves. Such retrospective diagnoses often leave the impression that modern psychiatric categories are infallible, when in fact they are only one way to account for the complex reality of human trouble.In their book The Perspectives of Psychiatry, Paul R. McHugh and Phillip R. Slavney identify four approaches to a suffering person. The first approach seeks to identify disease, or what the person has. The second seeks to identify a person's dimension, or who he or she is. The third focuses on behavior, or what the patient does. Each of these approaches has some value for a study of Lincoln's life, but none so much as the "life story" perspective, which seeks a holistic understanding of what patients want and what they can become.Diagnosis, we must remember, exists primarily to facilitate treatment in a clinical setting. It is a snapshot at a moment in time. But here we want to make sense of a whole life. As the writer and physician Oliver Sacks has noted, "To restore the human subject at the centre—the suffering, afflicted, fighting, human subject—we must deepen a case history to a narrative or tale; only then do we have a 'who' as well as a 'what,' a real person, a patient, in relation to disease." This distinction between case history and narrative is right on point. The former tries to eliminate questions with facts, whereas the latter draws on facts to articulate the essential questions of a person's life.Can we say that Lincoln was "mentally ill"? Without question, he meets the U.S. surgeon general's definition of mental illness, since he experienced "alterations in thinking, mood, or behavior" that were associated with "distress and/or impaired functioning." Yet Lincoln also meets the surgeon general's criteria for mental health: "the successful performance of mental function, resulting in productive activities, fulfilling relationships with other people, and the ability to adapt to change and to cope with adversity." By this standard, few historical figures led such a healthy life.

What People are Saying About This

"Original, important... Certain to provoke discussion and appreciation alike, and add a crucial new layer to the Lincoln story." co-chairman, U.S. Lincoln Bicentennial Commission

Jerome Groopman

"Convincingly and with great artistry, Shenk reveals how Lincoln's struggle was transmuted into noble actions that changed the course of our country. This story of surmounting adversity will inspire not only historians but all those who seek ways to prevail over personal suffering." MD, author of Anatomy of Hope, New Yorker staff writer, Professor, Harvard Medical School

Walter Isaacson

"Lincoln not only coped with his depression, he harnessed it. Explaining how is critical to understanding both him and human greatness. Shenk does so masterfully and memorably." author of Benjamin Franklin: An American Life and president and C.E.O of the Aspen Institute

Nassir Ghaemi

"This book sets the standard for future works of biography with a psychological center of gravity. Far better than traditional psychobiography, this is scholarly history with thoughtful psychological insights." director, Bipolar Disorder Research Program, Emory University, author of The Concepts of

Steven Fidel

"After reading Lincoln's Melancholy, you will never look at depression in the same way again. This is without doubt one of the most thought-provoking books of the season."Powell's Books

Rosalynn Carter

"Through careful research and his personal understanding of mental illness, Shenk takes us into the inner-world of a revered leader who profoundly impacted American history while managing his own depression. Lincoln's Melancholy cuts through long held misconceptions about an illness that affects so many."former U.S. First Lady and Chairperson, The Carter Center Mental Health Task Force

Mike Wallace

"Lincoln's Melancholy is an extraordinary story, for the depth of its scholarship and the lure of its style. Today's depressive gets substantial help from medications that were unavailable to Lincoln. It was an incredible mountain he had to climb, as this book so vividly shows, and it's inspiring to see the heights he was able to reach." CBS News

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Lincoln's Melancholy: How Depression Challenged a President and Fueled His Greatness 3.9 out of 5based on
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16 reviews.

Guest

More than 1 year ago

As a fan of history I wanted to find out more about not just the facts of Lincoln's life but what made him tick. This was a very good book that delved into the inner workings of Lincoln and his famous depression. The author discuses the major events that may have contributed to his depression along with modern psychological theories. He discussed how his depression affected him, how he dealt with it, and how it led to his becoming one of America's greatest leaders. An interesting concept that is discussed was how socially normal it was for one to discuss their feelings with others so candidly, certainly something that is nearly taboo today. All in all, it was a half history half psychology book. If you've never read anything about Lincoln, start with Stephen Oates's 'With Malace Toward None' It is a straight shooting, easy to read, highly detailed biography. After reading that or one of the many other quality Lincoln bios. read this for better appreciation of Lincoln.

Anonymous

More than 1 year ago

This book gives amazing insights into depression, which in turn gives insight into Lincoln himself. I am not a fan trying to diagnose long-dead historical figures with modern diagnoses, bur depression was a key characteristic of Lincoln. He called it "the hypo". Learning to live with depression made Lincoln uniquely able to cope with being the President during the civil war. This book will give you insight into Lincoln, and into depressiin in general. Great book!

Guest

More than 1 year ago

Joshua Shenk puts a human face on Abe Lincoln in a way that the reader comes away saying, 'I know this man because, to some degree, he is every man.' The author's warm and intimate style makes it a wonderful read. This story of Lincoln provides us with a new understanding of depression, sadness and the triumph that may emerge. I was truly touched by this unique and insightful portrayal of our 16th president.

Anonymous

More than 1 year ago

First of all, it is not for all readers, if you want some excitement or a happy little tale of Abraham Lincoln becoming president then turn away now this is not the kind of book for you. However if you are a historian or a psychologist this book may pique your interests. The book will delve deep into what made Lincoln as he was, characteristics, patterns, genetics inherited, possible ways he had tried to cope throughout his life, how he tried to balance his inner turmoil with his political career and how his depression might have actually aided him in his career.The book does not just pump out facts about Lincoln but instead branches out, going in depth with the topics at the time, compares peoples disposition to things such as melancholy, religion, racism, etc. to better understand the background and what was occurring at each period of Lincoln's life and often refers back to earlier events. It will also even go into other peoples lives and explain their characteristics as well and how they relate to him and personal accounts of his behavior. Lincoln's Melancholy will give you a new perspective on the president and helps you understand the man's character as a human being, the everyday turmoil the man had endured and brings more to the table than one would expect beautifully. The author definitely treated this book and all it's information with love as it was written with nothing but information put in a way that any individual could understand the principles of what he has written (though if you do not read much it will be more difficult but will broaden your vocabulary). He spent seven years collecting all the information for this spectacular book and left his notes and the people who he interviewed within the back of the book if you so look and see. The book grasps your fascination and makes the reader want more to truly appreciate Lincoln, &ldquo;If destruction be our lot, we ourselves be its author and its finisher. As a nation of freemen we must live through all time, or die by suicide&rdquo;. Lincoln&rsquo;s Melancholy will also teach you many things that you wouldn't have known beforehand such as how doctors treated patients that were ill by bleeding them, administering mercury to the system, ice cold baths, etc. things deemed inhuman current day. It will also use modern knowledge to diagnose or set an example of certain aspect that was unknown at the time to put things into perspective. So if this is your particular taste then Lincoln&rsquo;s Melancholy won&rsquo;t disappoint.

Anonymous

More than 1 year ago

This book does well at portraying Lincoln as a deep and troubled man. You really get a sense of Lincoln, the man rather than the president. I loved this book!

MaggieDubris

More than 1 year ago

I read this and immediately bought it for everyone I knew for Xmas. It's fascinating, well researched, and really brings Lincoln to life as a man and as a human being who both suffered and used his "melancholy" to change the course of history. I am not a history buff, but this is now one of my favorite books.

Anonymous

More than 1 year ago

This book is very hard to read until you reach the last two chapters. It's very well researched and original, but the author loses me due to boredom a few times. If you want to know more about the history of American depression this is the book for you. He describes how the perception of depression has changed from decade to decade...yawn. Like I said the last two chapters were very interesting and kept me awake. The author just moves around too much for me.

Anonymous

More than 1 year ago

I bought this book for self-understanding. This is a very well written book that has seven years of research within the pages.

Anonymous

More than 1 year ago

Anonymous

More than 1 year ago

Although this book contains some interesting descriptions and thoughts on Lincoln's mental health, it reads like a high school book report. It appears the author did take the time to research his subject, but the writing seems painfully amateurish, a simple recitation of quotes dug up from various other books and reports, much like a high school student would do for a history class paper. If he put his mind to it, I am certain the writer could create a much better story. As it stands, I found the book to be very disappointing.

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More than 1 year ago

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More than 1 year ago

I was being sarcastic. Any way i have tgtb. Im only getting 5 hours of sleep. Night